


A Girl's Best Friend

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Kinky Boots (2005)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-20
Updated: 2008-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 05:11:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1633280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie feels the need to prove himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Girl's Best Friend

**Author's Note:**

> <em>One Million Thank Yous</em> to my beta, Daegaer, for pointing out where I was assuming the reader to be psychic and for providing much-needed reassurances! Thanks also to Ihavecake for last minute calming of nerves and quelling of panics. Last but not least, Thank You to the Kinky Boots scriptwriters for giving us Lola.   
> Tigerlady, I hope this is close enough to what you were hoping for  I had a wonderful time writing it, and fully intend to go shoe shopping in the New Year!   
> 
> 
> Written for tigerlady

 

 

Lauren was direct. Direct and clear. Direct, clear and very assertive in her requests. And yet Charlie couldn't help worrying. Women were supposed to be subtle, weren't they? They were supposed to drop hints, and leave you to pick up their real meaning from the odd sideways glance and pause that was fractionally too long. Or short. 

She was awfully keen on their trips to London. "It's business travel, Charlie!" she'd said. "You can write it off for tax! We can go to the Angel Club again, and the factory can pay!"

The factory certainly could, thanks to Lola and the Angel Girls.

Their trips had become a regular event. It was, after all, important to stay in touch with one's customers, and there was a notable shortage of those in Northampton. Lola would vamp it up For One Night Only every month, Lauren would revel in the glamour and theatre of it all, and Charlie would... Charlie would watch two of his favourite people having fun.

For a factory girl from Northampton, Lauren had taken to Soho nightlife like a duck to water. The Angel Girls had adopted her as their mascot - she'd almost always leave the club wearing ridiculous false eyelashes, glittering false nails, or a marabou boa - and they had a knack of asking outrageously blue questions about her sex life just as he walked into earshot. Worse; the girls kept offering to take her and Charlie shopping, and the way she'd look at him would make his blood run cold. Not that they'd had the opportunity for any shopping; by the time they'd dragged themselves awake the following day (or rather, later the same day; the clubs often didn't close up before dawn), there was barely time for a quick coffee shop breakfast before they had to leave. More than once, Lauren had dozed off, leaning against Lola's broad shoulders - or worse, her... chest. "It's comfortable", she'd said. "There's just - more of her than there is of you. And your jumpers can be - you know, scratchy." Right.

There wasn't anything specific that he could put his finger on. Charlie couldn't even have put into words the nagging sense of insecurity that was growing inside him. Nothing was _wrong_ , as such - and yet he'd found himself wondering what he could possibly do about it. Whatever "it" was.

This had seemed such a good idea after a couple of pints. Those pints had got Charlie back to the factory, well after closing time, and telling himself very sternly to Be A Man, and to Just Do It. ( _Ha_ , he thought. _If only I owned a Nike factory._ ) He took a deep breath and reached up to the sides of the workbench as he remembered Lauren's comments. _Well, yeah_ , she'd said. _It was a bit_ \- and she'd pulled a face - but you did look dead sexy. Just ask George. Then she'd kissed him on the tip of his nose and put the kettle on.

 _The thing is_ , he thought. _The thing is, she thought I was sexy_ then. _She thinks Lola's girls are sexy._ And he pulled himself to his feet.

Odd, how a few extra inches could make such a difference to how the factory looked. The ceilings were that much closer. The machinery looked like so many things _to fall onto and brain himself_ no, to use as handholds until he got the hang of this. 

* * *

Charlie had lost count of how many new and exciting ways he'd found to fall over. The heels threw his weight forward but, if he leant back to compensate, his ankles went. Walking heel-toe had left him with a cracking headache from the corner of the table, while leaning forward seemed to need his arms windmilling madly. He could just about manage to walk the length of the workbench with his knees bent and his arse sticking out behind him. He had aches in all sorts of new and exciting places, grease spots up to his elbows from grabbing wildly at machinery, and a whole new level of appreciation for women's senses of balance. 

He was beginning to wonder whether girls had some sort of genetic modification that changed their centre of gravity, when he heard Lola's very precise, very _clicky_ very _not falling over_ footsteps. _Fuck_.

"Well well, Charlieboy. Coming round to our side? I could use some competition."

Charlie focused on his grip on the bench. If he kept his eyes on his feet, he might not fall over. Not that the evening could get any worse. He took a deep breath and steeled himself.

"Lola! What a nice surprise! What are you doing here so -"

No; he shouldn't have tried to turn around. He'd been perfectly all right, holding onto something solid; now he was being held onto _by_ something - some _one_ solid. Someone solid, wearing a shocking pink satin dress, while his ankles had turned under him to leave his face squashed against a well-shaped chest. 

"I must say, Charlie - I'm used to having men fall at my feet, but they don't usually cling on _quite_ so desperately. Now, let's get you back on your feet - and, if I may say so, those _really_ aren't your colour - and you can tell me all about it."

Lola strode off towards his office, Charlie hobbling along behind. _She was right_ , he thought. _Pink snakeskin_ can _work, on the right person_.

* * *

Something Was Up. Charlie had been fidgeting like a five year old all the way down. Within minutes of arriving at the club, he'd muttered something vague about "following up on something" and had vanished backstage. Lauren had a nasty feeling the Angel Girls knew what was going on; the dressing rooms weren't so large that you could just _lose_ someone, especially someone who stood out like a sparrow in a flock of parakeets. And he'd _never_ miss - rather, Lola would never _let_ him miss - her opening number. _Somebody_ , and Lauren heaved an internal sigh, was going to have to have it out with him. She took a good suck at her drink (pink; fizzy) and watched the stage (pink; diamante). 

Lola was on top form tonight. _Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend_ , complete with Marilyn wig, and the Angel Girls - how to describe it? - _double_ cross-dressing, with their outrageous makeup and padded corsetry set off by sharply tailored black jackets, white shirts and fuchsia bow ties. And, of course, black, thigh-high, patent leather, spike-heeled kinky boots. 

Lola was going to skin Charlie alive when she caught up with him. She'd already made eye contact with Lauren; there was no way she could have missed the empty space next to her. No; sod that idea. _She_ was going to skin Charlie alive, for being all secretive and making her worry like this. She was going to...

She was...

Bloody Hell. Charlie was dancing. Charlie was dancing, on stage with the Angel Girls and Lola. Charlie was dancing _in 5 inch patent leather kinky boots_... and was making quite a respectable go of it, if you could look through the terrified concentration on his extravagantly made-up face.

"Seen something you fancy, love?" Someone clapped her on the shoulder and slid another drink her way. Lauren downed half in a gulp without tasting it.

"That... That's Charlie. _My_ Charlie. From the factory. From _Northampton_."

"And doesn't he look grand? Shame Lola couldn't get him in a skirt. Still, you've got a good'un there - I'd hang onto him, if I were you. He'll turn quite a few heads if he keeps up with this."

"But you don't understand!" Lauren still couldn't take her eyes off the stage. "He - He doesn't _do_ this. He's _Charlie_!"

Her new friend laughed kindly and patted her shoulder. "I think you'll find he does, love. He's right up there, doing it in public. Can't argue with that."

Lauren retreated to the safety of her drink. Her words to George in Milan had come back to haunt her.

* * *

"I didn't do it for you," Lola said, later that night. "I wanted the fame and notoriety that would come with converting one of you lot" - she gestured in Charlie's general direction - "into one of us. Besides, now he understands the product better - if you think I'm going to make a 'walk a mile in my shoes' joke, Charlieboy, you can think again. That would be tacky, and _Lola_ does not _do_ tacky - now he understands, he'll be better at turning my wonderful creations into reality. Won't you, Charlie?

"By the way, the answer is -"

"Yes, Lola", she and Charlie finished together. 

Lauren just grinned and squeezed Charlie's arm a bit tighter. 

 


End file.
